The Paw Behind the Drawer
by Niffler.FA
Summary: He didn't own the beloved trinket he wore around his neck, he was merely holding it for a friend.


**The Paw Behind the Drawer**

He didn't own the beloved trinket he wore around his neck; he was merely holding it for a friend. In the dimly lit drawing room, Remus sat stroking the golden chain. Earlier that evening, he had rubbed the abrasive links between his fingers until they were raw and bleeding. Now, he repeated the motion over and over; almost hypnotically. The pain was a pleasant distraction.

He had discovered the antique ornament wedged behind a desk drawer in his bedroom on a day he was feeling particularly on edge. In an attempt to stem his restlessness, he had set about cleaning the derelict mansion on Grimmauld Place with wild abandon. As he rustled through the elaborate oak desk, the tiny golden paw-print had fallen to the floor unobserved; he was, at the time, immersed in a years-old piece of frivolous correspondence between Sirius and himself, evidently written during a lacklustre Charms lesson.

Reading the letter had evoked such a painful physical response in Remus that he had actually doubled-over as if he had been punched in the stomach. The fortunate side-effect of this had been his detection of the glint of gold on the wooden floorboards underneath the desk. He crawled under the desk on his hands and knees and retrieved the delicate bauble with his thumb and index finger, turning it over and over, mesmerised by the way it caught the last dregs of afternoon sun and cast splinters of light on the black walls of the room. The paw print was small, only about the width of his thumbnail, and the gold was encrusted with minute red gems – rubies if he recalled correctly.

He clutched the paw print tightly in his right hand and closed his eyes, trying to stem the tightness in his chest. He had now lost Sirius on two separate occasions. He wasn't sure which had rendered him more devastated; the first, when he believed he had lost Sirius to betrayal, or the second, where he had lost him wholly and undeniably.

In a way, it was better that it had been quick. When Remus was a young boy, he had sat at the bedside of his dying grandfather watching the frail old man lie there in a state of perpetual twilight as he struggled to breathe through lungs full of fluid, taking horrendous rattling breaths, his wrinkled skin yellowed and covered with blotches. He was glad at least that he had been spared from this sort of ordeal with Sirius.

Remus's grandfather had not played a disciplinarian role in his upbringing, and they were therefore free to share a relationship untainted by rules and rebellion. To his small eyes, William Lupin was someone with whom to share secrets and to seek guidance, without fear of reprimand. When he had learned of William's cancer, Remus had not been quite sure what it meant, but had felt the impact nonetheless.

---

He was playing with his toys in his room when he heard raised voices.

"We have to sort this now, Helen! The doctor said that he will deteriorate very quickly. We need to give him what little peace of mind we can."

The little green train Remus was pushing around a make-shift track stopped mid-circuit. Remus crept towards the kitchen on tip-toe, stopping just outside the slightly ajar wooden door and peered through the crack. He could see his mother standing next to the kitchen counter while his father paced frenetically alongside it.

"We will, John," she said firmly. "I'll contact the agency first thing tomorrow and we'll see about setting up home care."

Remus's dad stopped pacing and slumped over the counter with his head in his hands. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Daddy?" Remus pushed his way into the room. "Daddy, what's wrong?"

"Remus?" John Lupin appeared surprised to see his son standing uncertainly in the corner of the room. He exchanged glances with his wife.

"Remus, sweetie, come here." Remus's mother motioned to him. He ran over and she enveloped him in a hug. "Remus," she said gently, "Grandpa isn't very well and Daddy and I are organising things so he'll be properly taken care of."

"What's wrong with Grandpa?"

Another exchanged glance. "Grandpa has something called cancer, Remus," his father said, coming over to join his wife and son. "It means that he has something bad in his body that stops it working properly."

He looked up at his father questioningly. "But can't the doctors just take the bad thing out?"

"Sometimes they can, Remus, but in Grandpa's case, the bad thing is growing very quickly and the doctors don't think they will be able to stop it from growing."

Remus was confused. "So if they can't take the bad thing out, what's going to happen to Grandpa?"

John Lupin's face crumpled as he turned away. His wife placed her hand on his shoulder and looked searchingly into her son's face. "It means that Grandpa is going to become very sick, Remus," she said finally.

---

The cancer was a particularly insidious form and had turned his grandfather from a strong and vivacious man to a disoriented cripple who could barely speak within a matter of months. A few weeks after his initial diagnosis, William's health began declining rapidly and he was taken to hospital. Remus accompanied his parents to visit William a couple of days after his admission. At first glance of the old man, Remus was taken aback. His grandfather was almost unrecognisable from the man he'd last seen. His eyes were glassy and his gaze wandered aimlessly above him; his cheeks were so sunken that the bone underneath protruded sharply making his once round face appear gaunt. As Remus sat by his bedside, he held William's hand but refused to look at him, preferring instead to stare at the machine he was hooked up to, watching droplets of liquid fall steadily into a plastic tube and covertly wiping the tears from his eyes.

---

"Give, give!" Remus clapped his tiny hands and squealed in delight.

"Give what?" William said innocently, hiding the brightly wrapped package behind his back.

Remus pointed. "Box! Give box!"

"Well…" William paused in feigned contemplation. Remus giggled impatiently. "Okay, then." He passed the box to the squirming three-year old and smiled indulgently as chubby white fingers tore clumsily at the blue and gold wrapping paper and finally managed to prise open the box underneath.

"Ooohhh!"

Bright eyes examined the contents briefly, then outstretched hands greedily grabbed at the toy inside.

"Puppy!" Remus exclaimed with glee.

The dog was wooden and obviously homemade, but very realistic-looking, complete with intricately carved facial features, droopy ears and a tail that wagged when its head was pushed. William watched as the toddler started banging the toy on the ground, providing an accompaniment of assorted doggy sounds.

"Happy birthday, little man," he said, and bent down to ruffle his grandson's hair.

The little boy ceased playing for a moment and looked up at his grandfather with joyful eyes.

"Love you, Grandpa!"

---

With his grandfather's illness, he had cried for so long that when the end came, he felt nothing but relief, though he felt horribly guilty acknowledging it. It's easier to let someone go when they're suffering. Sirius had been healthy. Of course, he had been struggling with his own demons, but Remus remained optimistic that his friend could recover at least some of his former joi de vivre. Now he'd never know. He often wondered whether having the chance to say goodbye would have made any difference. He had been told when his grandfather was nearing the end; he'd had ample opportunity to wrap his arms around the dying man, stroke his wispy white hair and tell him over and over again that he loved him and that it was okay… it would be okay. But Sirius had been there one moment, larger than life, then he was gone without warning, leaving Remus searching for a way to come to terms with losing the closest thing he'd ever had to a brother.

The thing that stuck with him most about his grandfather's illness and subsequent death was the reaction of his father. John Lupin was a kind man, and a good father, but rarely displayed any strong emotion. In the days leading up to his father's death, however, John would often arrive home from the hospital with red-rimmed eyes, retreating to the confines of his study and locking the door behind him. The first time this happened, Remus sat behind the door and pressed his ear against it, only to hear his father's muffled sobbing on the other side. He hadn't known what to do, so he had silently crept away, never daring to mention the incident to anyone. He thought his Dad was bullet-proof; to discover that he wasn't had shaken him. He'd learnt to never again place someone on that sort of pedestal.

Not long after the passing of his grandfather, his parents had given him the paw print. They said it was the only thing the William had possessed that was worth anything and that he wanted Remus to have it. His grandfather had been an avid dog lover and was devastated when his illness had meant finding a new home for his beloved German Shepherds. Remus' parents impressed on him the value of the charm and, though he'd been young, he'd understood that it was worth more than money.

---

"I can't take it anymore!" Sirius yelled, as he burst through the door and slammed it behind him. "I can't live with that pathetic old shrew one second longer!"

Remus looked up from the book he was reading. "What's she done this time?" he asked mildly.

Sirius flopped onto the bed and looked intently at the wall. "She just makes me so _angry_," he muttered. He turned to face Remus. "Not only am I a huge disappointment as a son, but apparently, I will also meet a sticky end one day… for which she'll be grateful. Marks my words, Sirius!" he intoned in a high pitched voice, his eyes unusually bright.

Remus reached across and grabbed his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry, mate," he said softly. "I know what you've had to put up with all these years. It can't be easy."

"What sort of mother is she? That's all I want to know. What sort of mother tells her child that she wants him to die in horrible circumstances? What sort of mother constantly tells her son that he's not good enough, that he never _will_ be good enough, and that she wished he'd never been born? What sort of mother, Remus?" He looked up at him in despair.

Remus lifted himself off the bed and began rustling around his desk.

"What are you doing?" Sirius asked.

"Here." Remus returned to the bed and presented Sirius with a small blue box. "I want you to have this."

Sirius paused, then said with a hiccupy laugh, "Are you proposing, Remus?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Just open it."

Sirius pulled the box open and stared at the tiny paw print inside. "Why are you giving me this?" he asked, bemused. "It's not my birthday."

"Because it's something that's worth a lot to me," he said. "And so are you."

"It looks expensive, Remus. Are you sure you want me to have it?"

"Only if you do me a favour."

Sirius cocked his head to one side and raised his eyebrows. "I thought that we'd already established that I only like girls, Remus!"

Remus punched him lightly on the arm. "Stop it! I'm being serious. The next time your mother starts going off at you again, I want you to look at the charm and remember that you _do_ have a family that loves you, even though they're not related to you by blood."

"You big sap!" Sirius's voice broke. He turned away.

"I know," Remus said softly.

When Sirius turned back, his cheeks were tinged with two small spots of colour and his eyes glistened. "Thanks, Remus," he said, patting him gingerly on the back. "Hey," he said, looking down at the charm in his hands with a small smile. "I've just had an idea for my Animagus!"

---

It was getting cold. Remus briefly considered getting up to grab a blanket, but decided he didn't have the energy. He glanced out the waterlogged window and wondered how long it had been raining. He unconsciously tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair in time with the steady fall of water outside. A sudden clap of thunder sounded, but Remus didn't flinch. Instead, he turned to the mounting pile of bills on the table in front of him.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up with the cost of living. When Sirius was alive, he had frequently contributed to Remus' expenses, insisting that he'd rather share his inheritance with friends than hold on to anything his family gave him. Besides, he'd added, he derived great pleasure from knowing his mother would be outraged at where the money was going.

But since Sirius's death, Remus had been struggling. Harry insisted on allowing him free board at Grimmauld Place, but there were other things: food, clothing, magic supplies. The list was endless. Visits from debt-collectors were becoming a regular occurrence and, even with his most persuasive and pathetic arguments, Remus wasn't sure how much longer he could hold them off. There had been several offers of help from members of the Order, but Remus remained steadfast in his refusal to accept. With Sirius, it had been different; they had been family.

---

"Remus, what are you doing here? I thought you were going out with Claire?"

Though his tone indicated otherwise, Sirius seemed unsurprised at his friend's presence on his front doorstep.

Remus shook his head. "Cancelled at the last minute. Said something about having to finish a report for work tomorrow." He pushed past Sirius into the house and made his way into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of firewhiskey from the cupboard and pouring himself a large glass. "At least she let me know beforehand that she wasn't coming," he said to Sirius, who had followed him into the room. He gulped the drink down. "If she'd left me waiting at the restaurant for an hour or two, I would have been slightly annoyed. Like I was with Emily. And Shannon." Remus was now on to his third glass. "Oh, and Katherine. 'Cept she left me waiting in line for Weird Sisters tickets, not in a restaurant. At least at the restaurant I was able to sit down." Remus's eyes glazed slightly as the spirit started having its desired effect.

Sirius looked slightly disconcerted. "Hey, Remus mate, slow down a bit, eh?" He reached for the bottle, but Remus slapped his hand away.

"Since I'm going to be alone the rest of my life, I might as well develop a drinking problem to go with it. Then I can be the crazy old drunk man who lives by himself, bar the seven cats that inhabit his coat. And they'll find me one day, dead and reeking of cat and booze." He took another gulp of the amber liquid, then breathed deeply, savouring the burning sensation in his throat.

"Remus, don't be daft. You're not going to be alone for the rest of your life. Those women are idiots. You just need to keep trying until you find someone smart, someone who gets you."

Remus jerked his head up and almost fell over. "A woman who _gets_ me?" he slurred. "What sort of woman would _get_ that the man she's with turns into a rabid, grotesque beast every few weeks?"

Sirius smirked. "I know several women who find that quality quite attractive." He shook his head. "In any case, you do not turn into a rabid beast. Well, when you've remembered your Wolfsbane, anyway. Besides-" he trailed off as Remus's head dropped on to the counter and he began to snore. Sirius grabbed a nearby blanket and draped it gently around his sleeping form. Remus turned his head as the wool brushed his skin and his eyes flickered open.

"Sirius," he mumbled drowsily. "Promise that you'll never leave me."

Sirius reached his hand under the neck of his shirt and pulled out a gold necklace. "You see this?" he said, holding the paw print in the palm of his hand. "Do you remember what you said when you gave it to me?"

Remus shook his head slowly, his eyelids drooping.

"You told me that we were family. Real family. You're my brother, Remus. I will never leave you. Never. No matter how many cats you may own."

Remus's mouth slipped into a small smile as he drifted back into sweet oblivion, the woollen blanket clenched tightly in his hand.

---

That damn photo.

Remus wasn't entirely sure why he had put it up in the first place, seeing as he tried his best to avoid it each time he entered the drawing room. Instinctively, his eyes had drifted towards the centre of the picture and its two occupants.

There they were. Arms interlocked and dressed to the nines. Sirius was laughing wildly, his attention directed at something out of frame, and his dark eyes sparkled with mischief. Remus himself was more subdued, but still smiling widely and waving shyly at the camera.

It always shook him, but looking at it right now was almost more than he could bear. He hit out recklessly with his right hand and connected with the frame, managing to knock it off the wall. It fell on the desk with short, sharp clattering sounds. Remus reached out and pulled it towards his chest, wrapping his arms around it tightly as something broke inside him. The floodgates opened, unleashing a torrent of tears, and he was unable to close them. He was _unwilling_ to close them. He sobbed; huge heaving sobs that wracked his exhausted body and left him gasping for breath; his tormented wailing- amplified in the confines of the small room- sounding all but alien to his ears.

He was just so _tired_. So fucking tired of it all.

He allowed himself this brief moment of release before pulling himself together. As his sobs slowly subsided, he realised that someone was banging on the front door and probably had been for some time. He got up from his chair and closed the window before making his way downstairs. Pausing for a few moments to collect himself, Remus opened the door.

"Mr. Lupin?" The man on the other side was about the same height as Remus but almost three times as wide. His thick brown hair was greasy and hung halfway down his back in a pony-tail.

"Yes?"

"I'm from _Tofty's Credit Union_." The man flashed his identification. "I'm here about your outstanding account balance."

Remus nodded his head tiredly and motioned for the man to enter. "I'll make some tea."

---

"I want you to take it," the wild-eyed man said desperately, pushing the necklace across the bars towards his pale companion seated on the other side.

"Sirius, I can't… I don't want it…"

"They won't let me keep it, Remus; please, you must... I don't deserve it anymore."

Remus looked dazed. "Sirius… did you… did you really do what they're saying? Did you really give Lily and James to Voldemort?"

The other man bowed his head slightly and his short dark hair fell into his eyes, obscuring their expression.

"Time's up, Black!" A burley blonde man grabbed Sirius by the arm and led him out of the room.

"Remus," he called frantically at the threshold of the room, pointing at the table. "You must take it, please!"

"That's enough, Black!" With a final push, Sirius was gone.

Remus stared down at the table. The necklace was sitting there, innocuously glittering in the pale morning sunlight. Sirius had to be innocent; this was obviously just an enormous mistake. It wouldn't be the first time Sirius had been blamed for something he didn't do; he looked perpetually guilty. Remus reached for the necklace and gently folded it into his trouser pocket for safekeeping.

---

Remus gazed at the assorted tea paraphernalia littering the table. The man from _Tofty's_ had been mercifully patient with him. They had actually shared a laugh and several cups of tea– or at least, his guest had drunk several cups while Remus had sat there fiddling with his spoon – while they discussed payment plans. Remus had managed to dodge another bullet by promising the debt-collector that he was just waiting on payment for a few odd-jobs he had done recently and he would pay within the next few days. Of course, he knew _Tofty's_ wouldn't be nearly as accommodating when he couldn't come up with the money on time.

Sighing deeply, Remus headed back upstairs. The dishes could wait until morning.

---

The emaciated, dark-haired man sitting at his kitchen table was a shadow of his former self; a virtual stranger to Remus now, yet overwhelmingly familiar. Sirius's eyes held the haunting, hunted look of a man who had been without human contact for too long and his posture was reminiscent of a badly mistreated animal – untrusting, and uncertain of exactly what had happened to it. Remus didn't know where to start. "You look… different," he blurted out eventually.

Sirius looked at him ruefully. "And you, Remus." He held out his thin hands and examined them, taking in the newly-formed creases and crevices. "Time makes fools of us all, I suppose."

Remus smiled. "We are both looking a bit worse for wear," he agreed, carelessly running his hand through his greying hair.

Both friends were quiet then, consumed in their own thoughts as Remus's old grandfather clock ticked away the minutes in the corner of the room.

"You know, when I first escaped from Azkaban," Sirius said, finally breaking the silence, "I felt like I'd been away for years, but now, sitting here with you… it's almost like no time has passed at all."

"Was it... what was it like there?" Remus asked hesitantly.

Sirius stared at his hands and for a moment Remus thought he'd gone too far. Then he spoke so softly, Remus could barely hear him. "For years," he said, "it was this feeling of overwhelming, inescapable despair. There was no happiness, no laughter, no peace. Nothing to look forward to except death." He looked up at him with anguished eyes. "So many nights, I prayed for it, Remus," he whispered. "I prayed for death to take me away. It was almost unbearable. Almost..."

Remus felt his eyes fill with tears. He blinked several times in rapid succession and cleared his throat. "Sirius, I- "

"It's okay, Remus." Sirius dismissed his friend's concern with a wave of his hand. "You don't have to say anything. Besides, I'm free of it now. I have my life back."

"But what sort of life, Sirius? They won't stop looking for you, you know. The guards. The Ministry. You'll have to stay hidden until Peter's deception is exposed, and who knows when that will be?"

"Don't worry," Sirius replied. "I have a feeling his part in all of this will be revealed sooner rather than later. Once he has returned to the protection of his Master, he'll have nothing to hide."

It was time to change tack. "Speaking of returning things to their masters," Remus said with forced cheer. He reached around and unclasped the chain hanging from his neck. "I believe this belongs to you."

"Remus." Sirius looked him steadily in the eyes. "I can't take that back."

Remus furrowed his brow. "But, why, Sirius? You had nothing to do with James and Lily's deaths; I know that now. I should have known it from the start. You've got no reason not to take it back." He slid the necklace across the table.

Sirius pushed it back roughly. "No," he said. "I may not have directly been responsible for their deaths, but it _is_ my fault. I convinced them to use Peter as their secret-keeper. They had their doubts, but trusted me enough to make the switch. If it wasn't for my stupidity, they would still be alive, Remus!" Sirius banged the table with his fist and the necklace flew into the air, landing with a dull thump on the carpeted floor. "Save it for someone who deserves it," he muttered, turning away.

Remus bent down to pick it up, then walked over to his friend, opened his fist and placed the necklace on his palm. "I couldn't think of anyone more worthy than you." He closed Sirius's hand securely around the charm. "You couldn't possibly have predicted Peter's betrayal. Your intentions were honourable. So stop being a stupid git," he finished lightly.

"No." Sirius was determined.

"But- "

Sirius held up his hand, and said firmly, "It wouldn't be right, after everything that's happened. Regardless of what you think, what the others think, I feel responsible. It haunts me, Remus." He paused. "Perhaps one day the guilt will pass, but until then- " He held out the chain to his friend.

Remus took it reluctantly. In a battle of wills, Sirius had always won. "I'll hold it for you for as long as it takes," he promised.

---

Back in the drawing room, Remus furiously scribbled some sums on a piece of paper. A sharp tapping sound broke his concentration and he glanced across to see a young eagle owl hovering outside the window. He leaned across to unlatch the pane and the owl flew in and settled on the desk, gracefully shaking the water from its feathers in one smooth motion. The small envelope it was carrying fell from its beak and onto Remus's lap. Reluctantly, he reached into his pocket for some Knuts to pay the bird and grimaced as he added the letter of demand to the stack of bills in front of him. As the owl took its leave, Remus absently fingered the charm around his neck and wondered how much it would fetch from the street peddlers in Diagon Alley.

He quickly rejected the idea with a shake of his head. He would find another way. After all, the charm wasn't his to sell; he was just holding it for a friend.


End file.
